


Except You Enthrall Me

by museicalitea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Angst, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Hospitals, Ice Cream Parlors, Kissing, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Smut, kind of, lots and lots of kissing, ratings given for each chapter, relationships and characters will be added for each ficlet, underwater kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-04-29 03:32:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5114399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museicalitea/pseuds/museicalitea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>Bokuto leans in and Akaashi lets him, swirls of matcha and strawberry and woody cologne sending tingles down his spine, and he can see the faint freckles dotting the bridge of Bokuto’s nose, and he presses forward and it’s so, so warm—</p>
  <p>Across the table, Suzumeda and Konoha’s faces are screwed up in identical expressions of disbelieving disgust.</p>
  <p>“Can they get a room or something?” Suzumeda asks, tilting her head and resting it on her and Konoha’s entwined hands.</p>
</blockquote><p>(a series of ficlets based on kiss prompts from Tumblr)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nor Boundless Sea (tsukkiyama + underwater kisses, rated G)

They wait until late afternoon, when everyone else is heading to the showers or over to the volleyball net on the grass, before going into the water. Yamaguchi did go in before, but Tsukki says he waited because he wanted to be able to swim without the risk of “being drowned by any of the idiots or the godda-[choking noises] [huff]—senpai”. (Well. Yamaguchi knows that that’s true, but he also knows that Tsukki burns after spending like ten seconds in the sun with two layers of sunscreen on, and sun reflecting off the sea makes it worse. It’s not pretty to deal with.)

The sun’s still softly warm, as is the sand under his feet, and just ahead of him Tsukki’s shadow stretches back four, five metres along the sand. He shed the old T-shirt he’s been wearing all day just moments ago, and something settles in Yamaguchi’s stomach and spreads up into his smile. It’s a rarity smaller than the number of fingers he has on one hand, and yes it’s selfish but it’s also perfect; because this sight—Tsukki’s back, bare (beautiful)—is his, all  _his_  and  _only_  his.

For once, he doesn’t run to catch up.

Tsukki is already thigh-deep in the sea when Yamaguchi steps tentatively in. He yelps at the cold, and Tsukki looks over his shoulder. But he doesn’t comment, just raises an eyebrow before wading deeper and sinking down to start swimming.

It’s not so bad after a minute, and Yamaguchi wades in with more conviction now that the water is bearably cool. He jumps reflexively when a breaking wave swells in towards the shore and grins. It’s like being six or seven years old again—being at the beach is always like being seven years old, and it’s something he appreciates a lot nowadays. He’s navel-deep now, and with a sigh he sinks himself down and then brings his legs up so he’s floating on the surface.

He closes his eyes and lets his head sink further into the water. It rises over his ears in a sighing gush, laps gently across his stomach, and supports him in a cool embrace. His stomach and face are warm under the sun, and he slowly feels his body unwind and his muscles relax.

There’s a distant splashing near him—though, everything sounds distant with his ears underwater—and that’s all the warning he has before there’s a hand on his shoulder, fingers long and gently squeezing. Yamaguchi smiles. And then the hand changes its grip, and there’s a dip in the water, waves rippling and receding over his chest.

Something presses against the crook of his neck, and there’s a head and softly floating hair brushing his. His stomach flutters, and he inhales sharply through his nose—

And then Tsukki’s head whacks against his and knocks him forwards. He splashes in the water for several seconds, trying to find his footing through the twinge rattling through his head, and when he finds his footing at last he turns around, wincing through the pain—only to find Tsukki spitting and grimacing and hacking into the water.

“Ugh—blegh—oh  _god,_  that was  _foul—”_

His hair is plastered flat to his head and his hands are alternately wiping his mouth and clutching at the base of his throat. Tsukki really looks ridiculous like that—and his prescription goggles aren’t helping matters in the slightest—and Yamaguchi starts laughing despite himself because really, the intention was very cute but seawater is disgusting to taste, far less swallow, and Yamaguchi’s prepared to bet that Tsukki’s accidentally done both. What a dork.

“No one hears about this! No one—stop—blegh—stop laughing, Yamaguchi!”


	2. and gash gold-vermilion (bokuaka + goofy kisses, rated T)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goofy: adj. (informal). 1. Foolish or harmlessly eccentric.

A blob of pale pink drops onto his own green tea ice cream. Akaashi stares at it for half a moment. Somehow, he knows _exactly_ where that came from. There are only two people at this table who would inadvertently fling ice cream around (or spoons, which here is really the same thing), and only one of them got strawberry.

“Yours,” he says as he scoops most of it up with his spoon and taps it, edged with green, back into Bokuto’s glass.

“Eh?” Bokuto whips his head around, and his smile turns sheepish. “Ah, sorry ‘bout that! Oh—I didn’t get any on you, did I? I think there’s napkins somewhere—or I might have a tissue, hang on—ah, no, you didn't get any on your jacket or—”

“Bokuto-san. _Bokuto-san,_ calm down,” Akaashi says, placing a hand on his arm and waiting until Bokuto’s shoulders relax and he leans back against the booth again. “You didn’t get ice cream on my clothes, it’s fine.”

“Oh. Oh, good, ‘cause I don’t think I’ve got enough money for dry-cleaning or anything—”

Akaashi rolls his eyes, and within seconds Bokuto’s been swept back into rapid-fire conversation with Komi and Suzumeda over something Akaashi never caught wind of in the first place.

Curious, he tries the smear of Bokuto’s ice cream still left in his glass. It’s sweet and the flavour’s good, bright and summery. Rather like the boy sitting next to him. He smiles, small and fond.

“No, but—gah! Akaashi, what do you think?”

“Mmmn? What?” He looks up.

Bokuto has cream on his nose.

Is he surprised to see that Bokuto’s managed to get cream on his nose? It takes him less than 0.5 seconds to come to the conclusion of _not really;_  it’s got to far stranger places before. In fact, with his eyes wide and what Akaashi’s dubbed his “question grin” (one of his favourites of Bokuto’s wealth of smiles), the effect is oddly charming. It strikes him—as it often does, in a way that renders him discontent and even uncomfortable—that he spends a great deal of time looking at Bokuto but not actually _seeing_ him.

But now is the time for cream-removal, not shoujo moment-of-silence-and-time-stop reflection, so he leans in.

The trouble is that Bokuto leans in too, and he has to move his face up because now _isn’t the time_ and Bokuto’s head dips down— _HUH?—_ and so he moves his head and now his face is too close _what even_ and his lips land on something hard but slightly sweet to the tongue and—ah.

“Akaashi?” Bokuto’s voice is querying, quieter than usual. Akaashi freezes, because he’s somehow ended up—

“You—mm. Ahem. You had, uh...” And he has to actually push himself off. “Er. Ice. No. Cream, on your, uh… on your nose.”

Bokuto blinks, golden eyes huge. “Oh.” Without taking his eyes off Akaashi, he reaches a hand up and thumbs the cream off. His forehead crinkles, and slowly—and Akaashi can feel himself breathing now, slightly faster, slightly higher—he brings his thumb forwards, and touches the pad to Akaashi’s parted lips. Bokuto’s smile has shifted, and his face is sharp, tender, on the brink of something like a surprise.

Heart thudding, he drags his lower lip up Bokuto’s thumb and sucks in the cream. It’s cool, rich on his tongue. But Bokuto’s thumb is still there, pressing insistent, and Akaashi alters the shape of his mouth just that tiny bit so that he’s kissing.

And he’s just about to ask why when the fingers on Bokuto’s hand unfurl and stroke over his neck to land cupping his jaw. His thumb moves at last, pulling over Akaashi’s lip until it lands just by his mouth. Akaashi tilts his jaw up—oh, this feels so nice—and lays a hand on Bokuto’s wrist. Bokuto leans in and Akaashi lets him, swirls of matcha and strawberry and woody cologne sending tingles down his spine, and he can see the faint freckles dotting the bridge of Bokuto’s nose, and he presses forward and it’s so, so _warm—_

Across the table, Suzumeda and Konoha’s faces are screwed up in identical expressions of disbelieving disgust.

“Can they get a room or something?” Suzumeda asks, tilting her head and resting it on her and Konoha’s entwined hands.

“Seriously,” Konoha says. “We’re in public. Oh, that’s actually gross, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

Komi turns his gaze from looking at the overly-happy couple to land on Washio, on Bokuto’s other side. He leans across the table and stage-whispers, “D’ya think they’ve remembered… y’know. That we’re still here?”

Washio narrows his eyes. He glances down to the table, where both their glasses of ice cream are still sitting, half-full. Reaching out a hand to the far side of Bokuto’s glass, he pushes it an inch back towards himself. He pauses and shifts his eyes first to Komi, whose fists are clenched on the table and whose face is alight with anticipation; and then left to Bokuto and Akaashi, who still haven’t come up for air.

He slides the glass all the way to between him and Komi, and all he hears are faint moans and… _sucking._

“They’ve forgotten,” Washio says with a sigh. “Help me finish Bokuto’s ice cream?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment!


	3. The Marriage of True Minds (kaokono + forceful kisses, rated T)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that in this, all the characters are age 20 or older, and are thus of legal drinking age in Japan.
> 
> Additionally, the title of this ficlet is misleading. No one gets married in this.
> 
> Oh, yeah, and this is a sequel to Chapter Two, idea courtesy of memorde.

Kaori tips her glass back, letting the alcohol run sharp down her throat. It’s a fancier drink than she normally gets—more to the point, it’s a cocktail, when she’s normally content with a beer or four, but it’s an occasion tonight and it deserves something fancy. It’s nice, though. Lemony, sharp and sweet, _deliciously_ alcoholic.

But even so, something sits uncomfortably heavy and dark in her chest, and she rests her lower lip on the rim. To observe.

Because here’s the thing. Bokuto and Keiji are sitting just there (not directly opposite her this time, thank _god_ ), and Bokuto’s cheeks are flushed. Keiji’s actually drinking this time—alcohol, not coffee, who drinks coffee in a bar anyway?—and Kaori would bet (based on that one time at her place that Keiji won’t talk about) that his alcohol tolerance is way down there with Komi’s. And lower alcohol tolerance leads to getting buzzed faster which leads to getting tipsy and then lowered inhibitions which means—

Let’s put it this way. She’s seen them _without_ alcohol before, and it’s disgusting.

A hand rests on her knee, and Aki bumps their shoulders together. He smells like that cologne she mentioned she liked a couple of times, and it’s a refreshing change from his usual Man Deodorant. She smiles despite herself, and leans over to let him kiss her. “You alright?”

“Yeah?”

Aki slides out of their booth and jerks his head towards the bar, and with a warning glance at Shirofuku (who has been eyeing up frankly everyone’s more edible-looking drinks throughout the night), she slips out after him.

“You’ve been staring into space for two minutes straight.” Aki arches an eyebrow—and he has that down to an _art form,_ wow—and gives her a Look. Kaori sighs heavily, because, well… he’d get it, wouldn’t he?

“It’s _them,”_ she hisses, gesturing back to the table.

“Elaborate,” Aki says, deadpan.

“Keiji and Bokuto-san,” she says through gritted teeth. “Keiji can’t hold his alcohol—”

“He’s only had two glasses.”

“—and you’ve seen them, you know what they get like when they’re too close together—”

“Huh?”

“—Keiji’s a _clingy_ drunk, Aki, and he… do you want a repeat of the ice cream parlour?”

A look of dawning horror takes over Aki’s face—so he _finally_ gets it—and he glances back at their table.

“That was traumatising.”

“Yes.”

“We got free ice cream out of it, though.”

Kaori nods, because that much is true. In their defence, Keiji’s ice cream would have melted completely had they not intervened. Anyway, Washio and Komi did it first, so Keiji getting mad about it was completely uncalled for. But then again, thinking about the ice cream invariably makes her recall why they’d had to take such drastic measures in the first place, and she shudders.

What they need is a _plan._

And as soon as that’s established in her head—

“I have an idea. Er, to make sure they… keep their hands off while we’re around.”

Aki’s eyebrow raises again. “Go on.”

Kaori pouts her lips, thinking. She _could_ tell him to just go along with it. Then again, it needs to look natural (it also needs to be very feelsy and gross but she’s buzzed and Aki’s on his fourth beer, that shouldn’t be too difficult).

“Come back to the table, I still have to fine-tune it.”

Aki looks like he wants to argue, but then he looks up at her (ah, sweet ten centimetre heels), takes on the expression of a cat with a grudge, and brushes past her to head back to their table. Smirking, she follows and slides herself back in front of her drink. As an afterthought, she pecks Aki’s cheek. She needs to be on his good side for this to work.

Now, she just needs to wait for the right time. More importantly, for there to be minimal danger of spilling drinks. And as the chatter gets a bit louder, and everything seems a tad brighter and the tension in her chest loosens, and the drinks finally start moving towards the centre of the table and away from high risk spillage areas, she decides. Now is the moment.

And Aki is actually talking to Bokuto, which makes it all the more satisfying to wind her fingers around the back of his neck and pull him down in one swift movement to meet her waiting lips.

He sort of squawks, which nearly ruins it, but she presses forwards and up—and then he sinks into it, moving one hand up to cup her head and bring them closer together. He tastes lovely, dark beer bitter in his mouth and fragrant chapstick soft on his lips.

Kaori reaches up and under Aki’s shirt, feels the goosebumps prickle up on his skin. He slides his hands to her back, resting one between her bare shoulder blades and using the other to pull her in flush to his chest. His breaths are heavy and panting as they kiss, and she finds herself gasping into his mouth. Her insides are so _warm,_ and Aki is firm and _fucking_ sexy and she knows exactly what they’re gonna do once they’ve got fifteen minutes of alone time tonight.

 _“Guys,”_ Bokuto says. Kaori smiles and deepens the kiss—as an afterthought, she pushes her tongue forward. Aki’s nudges back, wet and tantalising. “Guys, um—this is… this is kinda…”

He sounds _so uncomfortable,_ and success tastes of chapstick, and of alcohol, and very, very sweet indeed.


	4. While You Are Not Safe (kaokono + the way you said "I love you" as a goodbye, rated G)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is brief mention of both major character injury and cardiac arrest in this chapter; however, there is **no** character death.

Kaori’s shoulders have knotted, tense and sore, and she only realises when she checks her watch and inadvertently sits up straight in her chair. They click uncomfortably when she rolls them back, and she winces as she leans against the back of the chair and the small of her back twinges. She’s been sitting there a while.

Belatedly, she looks at her watch again and actually focuses on the clock this time. It’s late. She knew it was late a little while ago when a nurse came in and dimmed the lights, but now it’s late enough that she’ll have to go soon. Her stomach clenches, and she swallows back the lump in her throat.

She really doesn’t want to go.

Kaori slips one hand back into Aki’s, limp and soft on the blankets, and leans forwards again to stroke his hair. She knows—she  _knows_  not to expect a reaction, but something tight and horribly upset still presses in her chest when she moves her thumb to caress his forehead and Aki doesn’t even tilt his head into her hand or flutter his eyelashes or move his lips or— _anything._

“I have to head off now,” she says, and barely half the words come out audibly. Aki probably can’t hear her anyway—no. He can, so she has to make sure he can. That’s what the doctor said, that talking would help, because even though his eyes are closed and his brain jarred and wounded and it’s been six days there’s still a chance. Still a chance that the next thing she says could bring him back.

(It’s what she’s supposed to believe, but believing is getting harder and harder when the harsh rationalist in her remembers that every day that passes his chances decrease by just that much.)

She squeezes his hand. Nothing. His fingers are cool, and she hopes the nurses are keeping him warm enough. A sigh escapes her lips, and her other hand stills in Aki’s hair. She half-stands and leans forward, brushing her lips across his forehead, resting a moment longer on the bruises. They’re fading already. Kissing them won’t help him heal faster.

But she needs to feel that he’s alive and still warm. Still there.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” And this time her voice is even quieter, less a voice than a breath and only meant for them. “Love you.”

A final kiss to his hair—which smells like the linen, sterile and strange—and then she straightens, and picks up her jacket. As Kaori walks towards the door and pulls it on, she chances one glance back to the bed.

Aki still looks a mess. It’s been a week and he looks awful still—too pale beneath bruising and scabbing grazes, chest not rising high enough under large gauze patches and crumpled, bland blankets. As ever, she shifts her eyes as soon as they land on his other arm. She doesn’t want to think—not if the worst happens, and the worst  _could_  happen—

Her throat’s all trembly again. Huh. Kaori turns away and walks out into the hallway, again only in half-light. The bathroom’s only a few steps away, steps so loud in this silent place they make her skin crawl—and then she shoves the door open and braces herself against a sink and her vision blurs and heats up and she sobs until her throat is raw and her face is red and she  _can’t. stop. crying._

She hates this. It hurts so much.

(She says “I love you” instead of goodbye because if she doesn’t—

Aki’s heart has stopped twice already, and Kaori doesn’t want to risk it not starting the third time.)


	5. The Twilight of Such Day (kinonari + kisses in the rain, rated G)

They’re on their way out of the izakaya and it’s just started spitting when Narita’s phone dings. Kinoshita digs his hands into his pockets, trying to keep them warm while Narita’s previously free hand swipes and taps—

And then his face blanches and he squeezes the power button so vigorously it’s like it had personally offended him.

“Eh?” Kinoshita says, lifting his eyebrows. “What was that all about?”

Narita averts his eyes, turning and fiddling with the phone in his hands. “Um. Well, it’s not—”

And in that space of distraction, Kinoshita whips the phone from his hand and sprints down the street to unlock it in peace.

“No! Wait—give it back!” But Narita’s footsteps splashing down the street are too slow, and Kinoshita keeps walking (backwards, quickly) as he brings up the notifications. Something flips in his stomach when he sees what it (probably) was (the only other thing is a friend request from Tanaka’s friend downstairs).

He opens it.

“No, noooo, Kino, don’t—no,” Narita says, breathless and pleading. Kinoshita’s heart is doing somersaults, and he looks up from the rain-spattered screen to see Narita with large, pleading eyes, and very real fear crossing his face because there’s the chance, always the chance that it’s too late—

And he clenches the phone tight in his fist as he pulls Narita down and finds his lips, presses kiss after kiss after kiss as his eyes well up with tears and the heavens burst above them.

“You got _in,_ Kazu,” he says, and he moves his hand from Narita’s damp jacket to cupping his face. “They _accepted_ you, you got _in—”_

That wobbly giddiness in his chest increases tenfold when Narita breaks into the most stunned smile—and there’s water trickling down his forehead and cheeks, and a weird flush from the unexpected run and this is the _happiest_ he’s looked for four years, damn it—and then they’re both crying, and laughing in delight, and when Narita crushes their lips together again it’s the _wettest_ it’s ever been but also the _best_ and Kinoshita thinks—

_Now. Now it’s going to be okay._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave a comment! They're very much appreciated!


	6. Nor Ever Chaste (daisuga + kisses along the hip, rated M)

A hundred times, Daichi’s been the one to grab Suga’s shirt and slip it over his head—languorously, slow as he mouths his way hot up Suga’s chest, dry lips strong and tight as he kisses and licks and sucks—the mole on Suga’s eighth rib, that faint birthmark just on his sternum, the hickey scar that Daichi spent a week apologising for—and then his lips land on the hollow of Suga’s throat, and the shirt _finally_ comes off—

But tonight is not about Suga. Tonight is about Daichi, and Suga wastes no time in tearing into his shirt. His fingers can’t work fast enough, fumbling with the buttons and rigid buttonholes. Daichi’s hands are twisted and tangled in his hair, clutching and pulling as he ravishes Suga’s mouth with his tongue. He pushes in, and their tongues wrap together and it’s so _hot_ , so electric and _good_ and Suga moans deep in his throat as pleasure shoots up through his gut. He gets to the final button at _last,_ and cool fabric gives way to hot, satiny skin and coarse hair under his fingertips. Daichi removes his hands just long enough to let Suga wrestle the shirt all the way off—and then it’s all hands and lips and hair and Suga pushes them back and back and back until Daichi falls onto the bed.

Pushing Daichi down by the shoulders, Suga pries himself away and Daichi whines. His eyes are half-lidded and his mouth red, wet and swollen and Suga’s pants strain as heat rushes down to his cock. He takes in a shuddering breath as he trails his hands feather light down through Daichi’s chest hair and caresses his stomach—and Daichi shivers and clenches at the touch—and then he reaches Daichi’s trousers, slips the button open and undoes the zip.

And then he pulls trousers and briefs down all in one go, and Daichi is panting and naked before him and his mouth goes dry. He’s beautiful. He’s so beautiful.

Placing his hands on Daichi’s hips, Suga lowers himself properly to his knees and moves in close. He leans over Daichi’s right hipbone and inhales—sweat and bodywash and the faintest hint of soy and spice—and then he dips his tongue down and licks. Oh, and it’s warm, smooth, and he swirls his tongue and Daichi _bucks,_ cants his hips up towards Suga’s mouth.

So Suga pouts his mouth over the wet spot he’s left and kisses _hard._ He pulls and tugs with his lips, scrapes his teeth over the skin, licks again and _again_ because Daichi is panting, breath hitching and damp. Suga glances up and sees that Daichi’s eyes are closed, his mouth open and gasping. His chest is flushed, heaving and it’s _erotic as hell—_ and when Suga moves his mouth to almost the centre of Daichi’s pelvis and slips his hands down to knead his spread, muscular thighs, brushing over his tight red cock as he goes, Daichi honest to god _whimpers._

Suga plants one final kiss on Daichi’s hip, and then, not lifting his head, starts to kiss and lick his way down the crease of his thigh. He’s taking his time tonight—and as Daichi starts moaning his name when he sucks on the inside of his thigh, Suga knows it will be well worth the wait.


	7. tenderness (daisuga + the way you said "i love you" on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair, rated G)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inspired by Crollalanza and Adelaida's Suga-the-Merman AU (wherein Suga is, as you might have guessed, a merman, and Daichi is a surfer); art for this AU can be found [here](http://i-like-to-look-at-your-back.tumblr.com/tagged/mermaid-au).
> 
> This was also written for the "ways I said 'I love you'" prompt fill as opposed to the kisses fill, in case you were wondering.

It had struck Daichi one afternoon, and then many after that.

Suga had the capacity to be very, very dangerous.

Here, relaxing far from the shore in a hidden bay, he looked blissfully serene. Hair bright and nearly blue in the late afternoon sun, and a wide smile lighting his face, he shifted his arms along the surfboard until his elbow was brushing Daichi’s thigh. The faint bluish scales at the point of his elbow were rough, faintly ridged; and cool, always very cool, and they sent shivers running up through Daichi’s gut. He adjusted his seat astride the surfboard, and braced himself with his hands as he leaned down, and their lips met.

Below, in the clear, tilted depths of the water, there was movement, always movement. Suga liked best the bays where tiny fish came, company for him as he went out to sea when they would invariably have to part. So the fish swam, scales glittering and flashing in the strokes of sunlight grazing the water, and they brushed fleetingly along his legs. And below them, Suga’s tail drifted, softly blue.

From the waist up, Suga was very alike to Daichi. Well. Different,  _obviously._ Prettier. Yes, there were the gill slits curving down the side of his neck—and those scales, just faint ones if you knew where to look for them. His cheekbones were defined and beautiful, but there was something about them not quite… human. In his arms too, his strong, pale arms that had saved Daichi’s life that first meeting and could overturn a motorboat with one fierce shove—where the nails were too sharp, and the fingers too long, and the shape of the whole just subtly different. Close, though.

Suga’s tail wasn’t like that.

It was massive. Easily three times the length of Daichi’s legs, maybe longer. Running his hands down it, it was textured and smooth—but once, he’d pulled his hand up Suga’s tail, and come away with several shallow slices on his palm, scales edged as though with cut glass. The flukes, Suga normally used to flick Daichi with water when he wasn’t looking. But they too were huge and powerful.

Daichi had the feeling that if Suga wanted to, he could wrap his tail around Daichi and crush him until he couldn’t breathe. If he wanted to, he could bare his pointed teeth and sink them into Daichi’s throat and tug out his jugular vein. Beautiful, entrancing merman that he was, he could probably lure surfers out in the moonlight and dive with them under the waves as deep as he could go, and let those poor, lust-struck fools of men drown.

With him, though, Suga was playful. In the same way Daichi was careful with his roughhousing when his little cousins demanded it, he had the feeling that Suga tempered his strength when he hugged Daichi, or tugged him along by the arm to show him more of his world underwater. And after that first, disastrous time of taking things a bit further, Suga had been cautious about his teeth when they kissed.

Suga had the capacity to be very, very dangerous. But Daichi also knew that Suga would never try to hurt him.

And with mouths and tongues entwined, warm and cool both in the soft, last heat of the sun, it spoke volumes of “I care for you”—and perhaps, even, “I love you”—louder than words ever could.


End file.
